A Love Letter to Theatre

I perform for me. I perform for you.

I perform for our past, present, and future.

But most of all I perform for the memories. The memories that I make and take home with me, the memories we make together that you can take home with you.

There is magic in those memories.

So I go back to the stage again and again so I can continue that production of memories.

Dear Theatre,

I’m just going to say it. I miss you. Remember that first encounter when we were singing the ABC song during the preschool recital? I was so comfortable with being vulnerable with you on stage. So much so that I screamed “A B C D E F G…” at the top of my lungs. I had more confidence and charisma, and that was only our first date. Though it was early in our relationship, I didn’t even have to question it. From that moment on, you became the love of my life.

Remember when we were just 5 years old? So young and so open to all the possibilities the world had to offer us. Montclair, NJ, was so beautiful. People from all walks of life come to live in this town. We were happy there. We were so invested in one another. A year never went by where there wasn’t an opportunity to be engaged in acting, singing, dancing, performing—all the things that made our relationship so strong. I remember in school, before we were official, there were others interested in you. They were young and wanted to be in the plays and productions too. However, as time went on, most of them began to fade away. They gained interest in other activities. But I stayed. I continued to be involved with you straight through elementary, middle, high school, and now college. When contemplating whether or not I should continue with our relationship after high school, I was faced with inner conflict. I asked myself, “What am I really doing when I’m up there on that stage?” When I think about other relationships, I consider what they give to the world. Water and sunlight give life to a plant. Salt and pepper bring us flavor and spice. A song and a dance give each other a true purpose. So what does a performer and theatre give to the world? What do we give to the world, my love?

I love you. I loved you. I still love you. I believe people are put in your life for a reason. You were put in my life for a reason. You bring things out of me that I otherwise would not be able to tap into. Especially when it comes to song, emotions on stage, and my meaningful movement throughout space. However, the main reason you were put in my life is so together we could provide others with an escape. Life is hard: plain and simple. Every day we hear about death, human rights injustices, violence, financial strains, discrimination, and the list goes on. I believe that you, Theatre, provide people with a moment of escape while also giving them the tools to deal with reality. When sitting in a theatre, experiencing a live show for two hours, there is absolutely nothing to do but sit, focus, and enjoy the performance. Once the two hours are over, people can be reinvigorated to go back and continue with the inevitability that life is. We can’t ignore what life throws at us, but we can find ways to maneuver through it. You, Theatre, keep us maneuvering through life. I came to this realization about us when we had that talk about our love languages. It allowed me to see that being on stage wasn’t just about what I received from it, but rather what I was able to give to the world through theatre, through you. The answer is: I give it through memories.

Because at this moment, the memories are all we have.

I don’t know if you remember this, but when I was in the 5th grade, I was so shy that I didn’t enjoy being in large group settings. But that did not stop me from loving one large group setting in particular. The stage. Little Adarian seemed to become a whole different person on stage. Over the years, my family was so supportive of us and sat back as they watched me blossom. You know, being on the stage develops a sense of power and confidence. You may remember this, but I’ll just tell you again. It’s one of those moments that really showed me how I’ve grown as a person while being with you. The memory took place at the 5th grade talent show. I was singing “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.” I had gotten through two verses, but my full performance consisted of three. My second verse ended on this comforting high note that triggered the audience to think my performance was over. They began clapping and cheering. I was so thankful for the applause that I didn’t want to do anything that seemed like I was ungrateful. I remembered looking out into the audience and smiling. Then I confidently said something along the lines of “thank you and one more.” This made the audience laugh to see this 11-year-old girl claim her stage! It is a memory that pops up in my mind. Does it pop up in yours? For me, it’s one of those memories that makes me smile when trying to get through tough times. Does it make you smile anymore?

It is our memories that make us who we are. And it is important to remember that not all of ours have been positive. Some memories are difficult if not painful. But from that pain is usually a lesson. We were preparing to play the Witch in Into the Woods. This part was so extravagant that it was set to be the peak of my theatrical career. A great deal of preparation had to go into this show in order for it to exist in a space of truth and authenticity. The most challenging aspect of playing the role was the amount of vocal range that is required. It calls for someone with a deep voice that feels almost like they are hugging you when they sing. While at the same time a higher voice draws your attention with how smooth and simple it is. In all honesty, I struggled to find this balance.

I remember being in the designer run for Woods and singing “Last Midnight.” It is one of the most iconic songs of the Witch and coincidently the peak of her character arc. Singing the song was physically draining. I remember getting to the final lyric of the song which is a half-sung, half-screamed “CRUNCH.” Singing this note pained me. I truly felt like something so sharp and so rigid was slowly ripping down my throat. This was a painful moment emotionally and physically, so I naturally learned something from it. One: that I shouldn’t ever feel like I have to push myself to make something great. The second thing I learned was to communicate. You by nature are so collaborative, yet I was so focused on the individualistic aspect of me and me alone. I needed to communicate with you more about what felt right and what didn’t. And I know you would have been right there supporting me. This is a moment where we grew. Thank God for memories because this is one I won’t forget; it’s one that I can’t forget.

Even now, when the memories are all we have.

I’m just going to say it. We’ve grown too far apart. These memories we’ve shared simply won’t leave my mind. The reason I think we should get back together is to create more of these memories. The world smiles when we thrive together. We were together and made memories for so many years. I have always been in a show, in a theatre, and in the process of bonding with a cast of people. I must say that for a while I haven’t known what life is like when these things are not going on, without you being a constant in my life. So, you might understand just how shocking it was when it all came to a halt. In 2020, when we broke up, I was challenged. For me, there is something so magical about the brief relationship between the performer and an audience member in live theatre. By not having our magic, I realized just how deeply rooted you are in the fabric of my life. So, I write this letter to you to say I want you back. I crave what was once familiar, comforting, and magical. I long to make more memories, remembering how happy we were at just five years old, how much we grew, and how much we still have to offer the world together.

So, will you take me back, my love? If so, meet me in front of the box office. Our favorite spot where we can see if we can rekindle our love for making memories yet again.

Love,

Adarian